her little feet in scarlet shoes, they made a pleasant sound.Across the pavement where the moon drew patterns on the ground.Her little fist so clenched white beat heavily on the door.The oaken door that to her site would open never more.So young was she to die alone, so fair and full of fears.So warm to rest beneath the stone for countless many years.And sometimes now men hear her feet across that tower floor. Her voice beseech, her small hands beat upon that oaken door. Oh Henry, oh how dear my king I privy let me in. How could thou do this cruel thing to little Mary Anne Boleyn.

Yes, I too have been trying to find the poem & the author. I've never heard it for 50 years, either. The wording is just a little incorrect, it should say 'Harry' not 'Henry' which is the more familiar term for Henry. Also wording should be 'shoon' not shoes, this was used at the time. Also 'prithee' (i.e. pray thee' not privy. Also coulds't (rather than could you), which was language in use at the time. Finally, it should be 'merry' not Mary Anne Boleyn.

Here's my version:Her little feet in scarlet shoon, they made a pleasant sound.Across the pavement where the moon drew patterns on the ground.

Her little fist so clenched and white beat heavy on the door.The oaken door that to her sight would open never more.

So young was she to die alone, so fair and full of fears.So warm to rest beneath the stone, for countless many years.

And sometimes now men hear her feet across that tower floor. Her voice beseech, her small hands beat upon that oaken door.